The Nursery Cam

The baby monitor glowed in the dark, a faint green light on the nightstand.

Emily blinked awake to the soft static hum. She wasn’t sure what had stirred her, maybe instinct, maybe the silence.

The clock read 2:47 a.m.

For a moment, everything was still. Then a sound crackled through the monitor, a faint rustle, the soft creak of the crib.

She reached for the screen, the modern keyhole into her daughter’s room.

At first, the nursery looked normal in the dim green glow. The crib sat beneath the mobile, tiny stars and moons dangling above. The rocking chair stood in the corner, a small blanket folded neatly across it.

Then something moved.

A dark shape stood beside the crib, too tall, too still to be her husband. It leaned over, as if looking into the crib.

Emily froze. Her breath caught in her throat.

"James?" she whispered, glancing to her side. Her husband lay sound asleep, turned away, his breathing slow and steady.

She looked back at the monitor.

The figure was gone.

Only the empty room filled the screen again.

Emily’s heart pounded. She turned the volume up, but there was nothing except the faint hum of static. She tried to steady her breathing, telling herself it was just a shadow, a glitch, a trick of the night vision lens.

But then came the softest sound, a lullaby.

The mobile above the crib began to turn. Slowly, mechanically, its soft melody echoing through the monitor.

Emily’s hand trembled. "James," she whispered again, louder this time. He stirred but didn’t wake.

Her pulse thudded in her ears as she switched to the nursery’s overhead camera, one of the new smart home features James had installed just last week. The second angle flickered to life.

The mobile still spun.

The figure was back.

This time, it stood closer to the camera. Too close. The shape was humanoid but featureless, its head slightly tilted, watching the crib.

Emily gasped and shook James awake. "Wake up! There’s someone in the nursery!"

He bolted upright, disoriented. "What? What are you talking about?"

"On the monitor!" she cried, shoving it toward him. But when he looked, nothing. Just the empty crib again.

He rubbed his face, muttering, "You’re exhausted, Em. You need to sleep."

But Emily couldn’t shake it. She grabbed her phone and opened the security feed app, the live video of the nursery.

For a second, it wouldn’t load. Then the screen flickered.

This time, there was movement not near the crib, but on the floor. A small shadow crawled beneath the mobile, out of sight of the main camera.

Her stomach turned cold.

She whispered, "That’s not possible."

James sighed and got up. "I’ll check. Just to prove it’s nothing."

He disappeared down the hall.

Emily watched the monitor as he entered the nursery, his shape briefly visible in the corner of the frame. He leaned over the crib, then looked around, shaking his head.

"No one here," he called.

But behind him, on the screen, the closet door began to open. Slowly.

"James!" she screamed into the monitor.

He turned just as the door creaked open, and the feed cut to static.

The baby’s cry pierced through the monitor.

Emily ran from the bed, barefoot, the monitor still clutched in her hand. The hallway felt endless. When she reached the nursery, the door was half open.

The crib was empty.

The mobile spun lazily, its soft tune playing over and over.

James stood frozen, staring into the closet. His face was pale, his voice barely a whisper. "It’s gone."

Emily stepped closer. "What do you mean?"

"The baby," he said, trembling. "The baby’s gone."

The monitor in her hand flickered one last time. The static cleared, showing the live feed again, but not of the nursery.

It showed Emily and James standing in the room, looking toward the camera.

And behind them, in the doorway, a dark figure leaned in, peering through.